


Crimes of Nature

by basilique



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Bees, Ecology, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Forensics, Illegal Activities, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV John Watson, Scientist Sherlock, Self Confidence Issues, Sherlock Holmes and Bees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilique/pseuds/basilique
Summary: “I’ve upset you,” says Sherlock Holmes, after a thoughtful pause. “I am sorry. You are clearly uncomfortable with scrutiny. You have secrets, or perhaps a single secret, and you would rather die than have someone uncover it. I shall not pry. Although I must say, Dr. Watson, you are fascinating.”





	

“Excuse me, sorry to disturb you, but are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” 

The tall, slender man across the laboratory looks up as the door swings shut behind John. 

“Yes, hello. I see you’ve been living in your basement for some time. Good on you for deciding to get out. What sparked the decision?” 

John blinks. “I’m. John Watson,” he says lamely. He had already begun extending his hand in greeting. 

“And I’m Sherlock Holmes.” The younger man strides out from behind a counter with a row of microscopes, and reaches out to take John’s hand. His blue-green eyes flick over John, and John feels rather as though he is being x-rayed. He does not like it in the slightest. 

“And, yes.” John says curtly. “I have been…living in some isolation, yes.” He tilts his head a little. “But may I ask…what gave it away?” 

“You’re extremely pale. Yet your hair color and pigmentation suggest that you would tan with only very little exposure to sunlight. So, likely, you have been living somewhere dark. Somewhere, perhaps, with no windows.” 

John shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, I- yes. Well. My therapist suggested that I…get out.” 

“And so you come directly to…a laboratory? Hardly the typical route.” 

“Yes, well. I’ve been other places as well,” John says, a little defensive. 

Sherlock Holmes narrows his eyes. The expression makes John’s stomach twist, as though he is standing there naked under a bright light. But there is no judgment on Sherlock Holmes’ face. Only curiosity. 

“You’re clearly lying,” he says matter-of-factly. “You only speak to your therapist over the phone. You used to meet with her in person, no doubt. But your mental health has recently deteriorated to a point where you have difficulty leaving your home. And, in particular, it would seem, your basement. You are now acting on your therapist’s advice and forcing yourself out into the world, perhaps for the first time in weeks? It took draconian effort; you are clearly exhausted and dehydrated, presumably you have been sweating with anxiety. Yet you visibly breathed a sign of relief when you stepped into the laboratory, so there’s something about this setting that soothes you. Likely, that ‘something’ is the reason you came here, rather than go out to a pub, or wherever it is that people normally go on Friday evenings.” 

Sherlock Holmes casts a curious glance around the lab, as though searching for some magical object that might have beckoned John to the lab and queued him to relax. 

John sets his jaw and swallows hard. His heart is suddenly hammering very quickly in his chest, and he is beginning to feel dizzy. He does not see how on earth Sherlock Holmes should know so much about him from two minutes of acquaintance. _Is his condition so obvious? Is everyone on the street looking at him and seeing a shut-in? A pathetic excuse for a man who can hardly steel himself to walk through his own home, and feels absolutely mad with fear just walking down the street?_

Or is Sherlock Holmes some sort of _savant_? 

Either way, John is absolutely terrified of those eyes. 

They seem to catch every little twitch of tension in his muscles, every bead of exhausted sweat forcing its way out of his skin. This striking and bizarrely handsome…no, _beautiful_ young intellectual reads him like a book, and he doesn’t like this one bit. Perhaps this “exposure to the outside world” idea was not so good after all. 

He is suddenly struck with an overwhelming urge to retreat. 

“I’ve upset you,” says Sherlock Holmes, after a thoughtful pause. “I am sorry. You are clearly uncomfortable with scrutiny. You have secrets, or perhaps a single secret, and you would rather die than have someone uncover it. I shall not pry. Although I must say, Dr. Watson, you are fascinating.” 

Sherlock Holmes appraises him with his head cocked, and for a bewildering moment, John’s heart takes a confused, joyful leap. But then it sinks, almost instantly. _If you knew the nature of this secret, Mr. Holmes,_ he thinks, _you would only be disgusted_. 

Still, John smiles a little, to brush over the discomfort of the moment, and clears his throat. 

“Mr. Holmes, I’ve come to ask a favor of you. As you have…probably already guessed, somehow, I am a country doctor. I have experience in the fields of biology and chemistry. I would like to assist you in your research. I heard about you from an old friend—he knows a number of the local scientists, and he recommended you because…well, to be perfectly honest, because he thought you might need a hand. He said you had a tendency to bite off more than you could chew, with your research goals. And so I thought that…well, perhaps we might be of use to each other.” 

Sherlock Holmes watches him pensively as he speaks, and then inclines his head. “Yes, I think we might indeed,” he says. “But there is something you ought to know, Dr. Watson, if we are to work together.” 

“Please, call me John.” 

“Alright. You see, John, the natural world is full of horrors. There is infestation, crime, sin, and cruelty, without any recourse or justice as we understand it. I look into the past and solve the crimes of nature. I am a forensic ecologist, and my field is often an…unsettling one. But it is also important. And more important now than ever before. I am well respected in the scientific community; the British Museum of Natural History pays my salary. But, unbeknownst to my peers, I have been compelled to…break a law, here and there; the laws of nature, you understand, are much more important than the temporary and limited laws of humankind. So if you agree to help me, you must be sworn to secrecy. As it is very likely that you and I will be compelled to do things that you will not be able to…write home about.” 

John smiles. And it feels like the first time he has smiled in years. 

“Well, I have no one to write home to, anyway,” he says. 

Sherlock returns his smile, those disconcerting eyes very bright. 

“Then welcome to the lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sherlock's personality in this fic is based on how he is at the end of Season 4, when he has developed more empathy, rather than how he is in Season 1
> 
>  
> 
> I was just lying down for a nap and I suddenly this whole fic just popped into my head and it was really intense and REALLY weird, (you'll see!) but I just had to start writing it. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for more fic, smut, and cover art! =D https://basilique.tumblr.com/


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